How To Save A Life
by Furi Iki
Summary: "If you're going to die tonight, does it really matter who I am?" A/U
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own or claim to own anything that has anything to do with Naruto. This is strictly for my own satisfaction.

**Warning**: This story may contain mature themes and undertones such as suicide, drug usage, sex, and whatever else I feel like throwing into the mix. I apologize if anyone reading happens to be sensitive about any of those topics, but this story _may_ not be for you.

**How To Save A Life**

_Chpt. 1: Nothing Matters_

Why did it have to be this way?

She was a good person, in her opinion. She tried to treat people with the same respect she desired to be treated with. She loved animals, babies, generally cute things. She even loved the unsought. The possum that frequented her yard for table scraps would attest to that. She volunteered at the hospital, made sure to respect her elders.

So what made her such a failure? It seemed for every one positive attribute she portrayed, her father managed to find three negative. He hated her, she could tell.

Not that it would be that hard to, anyway. Disgust emanated from him in waves whenever she was in his vicinity, every statement made in her regard laced with malice.

And she had never been the defiant type, always answered with "Yes, father," "As you wish, father," "I'm sorry, father," "I'll try harder, father," even to the declarations that cut her the deepest, the ones that caused her to loathe herself just as he loathed her.

But that night, it had been different. _She_ had been different. Frustrated and berated, her emotions culminated in the form of anger, causing her to rise from her prostrated position before him, look him in his disbelieving eyes and utter the one word she had never dared to speak towards him.

"No."

She couldn't even recall what he had been saying, what today's verbal lashing had been about. (They had all begun to run together, anyway.) But she remembered his reaction. Swifter than her eyes could process, he had stood and moved, and in one unforeseen strike she was on the floor. Stars had burst behind her eyelids as pain erupted across the left side of her face. The tears were instant, and a small stream of blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth as she placed a trembling palm against her cheek and looked up at him. The vision in her left eye had blurred a bit, but she could make out his expression quite clearly.

Ire she had only seen once before marred his face, twisting his expression into a wild sneer. His nostrils flared, his chest heaved, his eyes bulged and he vaguely reminded her of an angry horse at that moment. And though his composure had been lost, his voice had never lost its calm as he demanded that she leave his house and never come back. He hadn't needed to tell her twice and she scuttled to her feet and rushed from the room. She had flown down the long corridor, past her gelid cousin, down the winding stairs, and out the front door into the misty, frigid night of Konoha city.

She had run, run until her throat was dry and raw, until her lungs burned and her side was cinched with cramps. She ran until street lamps became more frequent, until houses and apartment buildings were stationed closer together and then she knew she was in the inner city, somewhere her father detested, somewhere he wouldn't come looking for her. It would be just like him to send her cousin to fetch her, even though he had told her to leave, just so he could insult her some more. Though, judging from how angry she had gotten him tonight, it would more than likely be to satisfy his bloodlust.

Her run slowed to a light jog, then to a brisk walk, until she lumbered along at a leisure pace, her limbs feeling heavy and burdensome as the weight of her father's words began to sink her further into depression.

"_You will never be as good as your sister. She should have been firstborn."_

"_No man would want you as a wife. You are too weak."_

"_I feel sorry for your future offspring, as you will not be able to teach them anything of value." _

"_I abhor the fact that I produced such a feeble child."_

"_Failure."_

They rang loudly in her mind, clear as crystal, though they had been there for years and would probably remain there for the rest of her life.

And that thought gave her pause.

Did she really want to live with that _voice_ in her head; always shooting her ideas down, always telling her she was worth **nothing**, always letting her know just where her place in his household was? What's more, did she really want to live with her own self loathing?

She knew how burdensome she was, how easily overlooked she was. Untalented, unimpressive, incapable, nerveless, fragile, tepid... the list went on.

And the pressure... the fatigue brought on daily by just going through the motions of everyday living was incredible.

Where would she go? How would she earn a living? Sure, she had money saved, but that would only go so far, and that's **if** her father hadn't already put the order in to freeze her assets.

Who could she go to? She had no friends, all of her immediate family lived in one household, she had no distant relatives that she could remember. No guidance, no mentors. She had been home-schooled her entire life, an as such, became very socially inept. She was very timid, very awkward, and generally not a good conversationalist.

It was utterly depressing, the weight that inadequacy wrought upon her. It left a numbness to slither down her spine and settle in her abdomen. Everything seemed surreal, like she was in a monotonous dream. And it hit her. Like a cement brick tied tight to her ankle, it was pulling her under, drowning her in the realization of just how miserable her life really was.

Almost automatically, almost before her brain could process the motion, her feet were moving once more. As if spellbound, it seemed her body had come to an understanding before her mind had, and after a few minutes more of walking, she looked ahead of her and found that she was about a block away from the great and massive Hokage bridge. Lined with its numerous orange overhead lights, it stood out in the brumous fogginess of the night like a beacon, a lighthouse to a ship lost at sea.

It was an impressive build, but one she had seen many times in her life, even if it had only been through the passenger seat of her driver's car. She had grown accustomed to it, and therefore, did not stop to take in the fine view. She insensibly trudged onward, and as the frosty night grew even more frosty, traveled to the very center of the bridge.

She peered out at the vast body of water spread out before her, and though she knew it to be there, the blackened sky made it appear to have vanished. She felt as if she were staring into a void of oblivion, an open pit of nothingness. She gripped the bars with both hands and inhaled deeply, the acute fragrance of sea water filling her nostrils. She listened as the modest waves lapped at the base of the pillars that upheld the structure, reveled in the stark quietness of the usually bustling city bridge. It was good. She could think here; say her goodbyes to the universe and make peace with herself before taking her leave from this wretched world.

Through the numbness that had settled upon her being, she was vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face, the biting gusts of wind that tore through what little she had worn out of the house, the goosebumps that peppered the pale skin of her arms, the iciness that seeped into her palms from the steel railing as she clutched it...

But none of it mattered. She was conscious and aware, but for once in her life, **none** of it mattered. She smiled a bit to herself, aware of the irony in her dire situation.

How funny, that she would find freedom on _this_, her last night amongst the living?

But for a few long minutes, she dared to soak it in. She closed her eyes, leaned forward against the rail, and inhaled deeply once more as a lone tear made its way down her cheek. She exhaled slowly.

"You're not going to jump."

She startled at the deep, smokey voice, her grip on the rail tightening as her head whipped to her right, plumes of white exhalation escaping her cracked lips as her heart rate accelerated. There he was, five feet away, leaning against the same rail as she, yet, so casually, so carefree. One wrist dangled over, the other propped his chin in his hand as he peered at her through obsidian eyes, his expression bland, almost bored. He cocked his head, as if awaiting her response. She swallowed.

"Why... wouldn't I?"she whispered. He smirked a little, just a tiny upturn of his lips as his eyes narrowed.

"You're too hesitant. Thinking about it too much. You must have something to live for," he replied, turning his head to lean over the rail a bit as he peered down below them. He whistled.

"It would be a cool way to go, though. It _is_ a long way to fall," he muttered.

He looked back at her then, inky irises glinting in the overhead bridge light. She stared at him for a moment before turning her head to take in the same view he had. She remained quiet, though her heart rate had not slowed. A lighter flicked (once... twice) to her right, and she listened to the crackling of the ember eating at tobacco as he inhaled deeply. She heard the shuffle of boots on wet concrete and looked right to see that he had changed positions, his back against the rail as his elbows propped him up.

He looked like what her father would label "trouble", with his black cargo pants and military boots, dark hooded pea-coat and fingerless gloves. He looked like darkness incarnate, some sort of rebel, a rogue, or maybe... maybe he was her angel of death, some sort of shinigami. Maybe he was there to guide her to the afterlife.

"I will..." she whispered, a lone tear escaping to drop down her cheek. His hooded head was tilted back, peering up at the moonless sky as the hand holding his lit cigarette retracted from pale lips. His eyes slid over to her, and he watched out of his peripheral as she lifted her right foot to the first tier of the rail.

"You won't," he sighed, second-hand expelling from his mouth in tendrils and coiling into the air before vanishing into the night.

She blinked. Shouldn't he be trying to talk her down? Convincing her that life is worth living? **Who** was he?

"Who are you?" she voiced timidly. He narrowed his eyes, lifting a sable brow as he turned to face her.

"Does it matter?" he asked, taking a couple of steps toward her. She eyed him warily, her hands tightening once more as she hoisted her left foot up along with the other. He smirked at the action, lifting the cigarette to his lips once more.

"If you're going to die tonight, does it really matter who I am?" he asked her, his silky voice causing goosebumps to raise along her sleeveless arms. She gave a small shiver, and (blaming it on the chill in the air) couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't mind if his was the last voice she ever heard.

She watched him mutely as she pondered his question for a moment, her hair whipping lightly. She supposed he was right.

"I suppose you're right," she answered quietly. She climbed the second tier.

"So jump, then," he told her, his mouth cracking in a wry grin. And in that moment, she couldn't help but to think _this is no angel_.

Another tear slid down her pale face. Damn her for thinking, even for a second that someone actually gave a shit about her. He was only there for a show... so, who was she to disappoint?

She exhaled slowly, her brows unfurrowing as her face became a blank slate, her heartbeat abated to its regular pace as a calm lulled over her. Then she smiled sadly, her resolution made.

"So jump, _ka_?" she muttered releasing the rail. Another tear. He was watching. Studying, waiting. She leaned forward...

"It would be a waste, though," he drawled, flicking his cigarette over the railing. She paused, watched as it fell... down... down... down... She didn't see it hit the bottom.

"I mean, you're kind of attractive," he told her, folding his arms on the rail and resting his chin atop of them. She blinked at him, her breath catching as another tear was sliding down her cheek .

"N-nani...?" she whispered, her brows scrunching together as she stared confusedly at him. Was he... _**hitting**_ on her?

They stared unblinkingly at each other for a long silent moment, until she remembered to breathe. Then she exhaled in a ragged huff. He slid along the railing closer to her, about a foot away and sudden thoughts of brushing his dark bangs away from his eyes were quickly dispersed. She didn't even know him. Didn't need to.

"Come on," he said suddenly, straightening to his full height and holding a hand towards her. She shook her head slowly, long, dark strands glinting as they swayed under her chin.

"No," she said weakly, "I'm going to jump. I'm going to die."

He frowned.

"You're. Not. Going. To jump," he reiterated slowly, reaching for her hand. He grasped her wrist lightly, she snatched way. He smirked.

"Tell you what," he said, cocking his head to the side, "Let me take you for coffee. We can talk about it, if you'd like. If you still feel the same in an hour, I will walk you back to this exact spot."

She stared at him. Seeing her incredulity for what it was, he raised his hand as if pledging.

"Hell, I'll even kiss you goodbye."

Was this the same stranger who had told, no, basically **dared** her to jump not even three minutes ago? What did he want? Why did he care, anyway? She sniffled.

"W-hat do you care if I jump?" she mumbled, and he shrugged before outstretching his hand once more. She eyed him skeptically for a moment. Maybe it was a trick. If it was, she could always escape whatever asylum he had her committed to and come back. She was always good at picking locks.

She slid a small, cold palm into his large, clothed one. He tugged gently, and she allowed herself to be pulled down.

"Let's just call it 'Paying it Forward,'" came his reply.

He released her hand to dig into his inner coat pocket to fish out his zippo and his pack of squares. He flipped open the pack and pulled one out before placing it back into his inner pocket. He placed the square between his colorless lips and struck the wheel of the silver lighter, lifting it to light the tip.

She stared as he took a drag and squared his shoulders before looking back up at her, his eyebrows lowered as he watched her. He exhaled, and she resisted the urge to cough as the smoke ghosted past her face and through her hair.

"Come on," he said, turning on his heel and strolling away. She hesitated for a moment, a last tear rolling down her chilled cheek.

"But... I don't even know you..." she mentioned as she took one timid step forward. He stopped, his head turned to the side to catch her quiet statement. She couldn't see his whole face, for he still donned his dark hood, but she could make out his lips as they parted for the wispy tendrils of smoke to escape slowly and dissipate into the damp air.

"In the end... does it matter?" he muttered. He waited for a beat, then two, and then he resumed walking.

Did it matter, in the end? Really, when she thought about it, did it **really** matter if he was a deranged psycho murderer, or some perverted serial killer? He would just be doing the same thing she had been about to do to herself. Hopefully, he was, since she seemed to be too much of a coward to _actually_ off herself. Failure.

_You were right again, Father._

She watched him as he slowly strode further and further away from her, puffs of smoke intravenously exiting from the vicinity of his hood. She hesitated for one moment more before her mind was made up.

"W-wait... wait!" she called before trotting off to catch up to him. It didn't take her very long, and it didn't surprise her that when she did catch up, she was met with awkward silence.

It did surprise her, however, when he reached out and took her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**How To Save A Life**

_Chpt. 2: Fear of the Unknown_

His gait was dilatory and laggardly, unhurried as his long legs led her down even longer Konoha city blocks. She needn't try to keep up with him, it was deliberate, for her benefit, no doubt.

He hadn't said a thing since they had left the bridge, hadn't spared her a glance and she might have been mildly affronted, if not for the unceasing presence of the hand lightly grasping her own. They walked for a good, long while at his leisurely pace, until entering the downtown area. The center of the city was unusually busy for this time of night, given the weather conditions.

Once they were engaged in the bustle of Konoha night life, his strides lengthened as well as quickened, his posture straightening as he weaved through the throngs of city civilians. She watched as he slicked through the crowd almost aggressively, pushing forward to pave a path to usher her through. She couldn't help but to notice how sleek and swift his steps were as he navigated them through the mass, barely brushing anyone.

She, however, was not as graceful, and had scored her fare share of shoulder checks as soon as they were swallowed into the multitude. She decided to stop watching her companion dance through them, and mind her own steps, lest she be knocked to the dampened ground and trampled relentlessly.

She squeaked meekly as a particularly large man shoved past her, his shoulder striking her chest hard enough to jolt her mid-step.

The hand around hers tightened before she was yanked forward then released, only to have a warm, heavy arm thrown over her shoulders. It was only then that she remembered how brisk the weather was, and she shivered at the contrast, burrowed a little deeper into his side. If he noticed, he said nothing. Had it been any other day, had she been in one of her embarrassingly bashful moods, she surely would have blushed, possibly stuttered a t-t-thank you, and probably fainted.

As it were, the solemn mood she was in left no energy, nor motivation (or mortification) for her to blush. Thusly, she only spared him an arid glance, then shifted her opaque eyes forward once more. He remained stoic as ever, narrowed eyes trained ahead of him.

They walked a little longer until he suddenly veered left, earning them a few choleric glares for momentarily disrupting the steady flow of person-traffic.

It was a homey looking place on the corner of the block with a heavy looking wooden door decorated with stained glass. She noted briefly that the glass on the door depicted a beautiful sunrise, and then it was opening. He passed through the doorway swiftly while pulling her along, the warmth of the establishment and scent of sweet breads and brewing coffee grounds enveloping her as soon as she entered.

He slowed his pace once inside, heading towards a secluded corner table. He released her hand to pull out a chair, the wooden fixture screeching loudly as it scraped against the lino floor. He motioned for her to sit, and she briefly noted his chivalrous act before sliding into the chair as he slid into his own. She watched him closely, tucking her hands under her bottom in a meek gesture.

A pleasantly plump woman with long, red hair piled on top of her head and a frilly pink apron came out from the kitchen. She stopped at the cash register at the counter, pulling her small pad from her apron and sticking her tongue to the corner of her mouth as she fished around in her beehive for a writing utensil.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed before sliding a pen from her messy tresses. "Got it."

She looked up at their table with pursed lips and scrunched brows as if deciding whether she wanted to take their orders or not, even though she had already prepared for them. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed, using her plump little thumb to click the button on the end of her pen.

"Oi! Brat!" she called, leaning on the counter. "What will it be this time? Or are ya' gonna' just sit there like the puckered asshole you are?"

"Hai, hai, Bertha. One coffee, black. One camomile tea, lightly sweetened," he called back, waving her off casually. He looked his companion up and down as if contemplating something before nodding to himself.

"You look like a 'tea' type..." he muttered, more to himself than her.

"Dammit!" the rotund woman exclaimed, slamming a rounded fist down onto the counter. "Don't fuck with me today, brat! I told you my name ain't Bertha!"

"Ara, ara... just go do your job," he called to her without even turning to look at her. She sneered at him angrily before turning and stomping her way into the kitchen once more.

"...Bertha," he muttered.

"I heard that! I oughtta' spit in your coffee for that!" she hollered.

A few silent moments later, she was back, muttering curses under her breath and glaring at the back of his head the whole while she was making her way over to them. He made no move to acknowledge her presence as she set his coffee down none-too-gently, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the table.

"Sorry 'bout the language, little miss," the waitress said, eying the young woman curiously as she set the tea down in front of her. "He just knows how to bring out the ire in me. Enjoys it, ya' know."

"No bother. Thank you," she uttered to the waitress, bowing lightly in appreciation. The waitress moved around to her side of the table to whip a finger in the young man's face.

"You, you little uncouth shit! The next time you and your friends decide to dine and ditch, I'm gonna' grab my shotgun from under the counter and load all of ya's up with lead, is that clear? And I'll be expectin' my payment tonight!" she declared before marching around the table and back towards the counter.

The young lady watched the young man with inquisitive eyes as he sat just as he had before, as if the waitress had never even said anything to him. He shrugged casually before picking up his cup, deciding it was too hot, then replacing it.

She had sat quietly throughout the whole exchange, and if her mood hadn't been so heavy, amusement would have shone brightly in her pearl pupils. But as it were, she was in no mood. Instead, she took the time to study the hooded man before her, memorizing the curve of his thin lips as he smirked, studying his long, elegant fingers as he dismissively waved at the waitress, analyzing the mischievous glint in his dark eyes as he watched her just as closely. His prominent features stood out against the shadowing of his hood, but she still couldn't make out the specifics. Not that it mattered, really.

But undeniably, her interest was peeked when, as if reading her thoughts, he lifted a hand to shove his hood back with a sigh, lifting his other to ruffle black-as-pitch locks of hair. She noted his hair style wasn't nearly as long as she thought it would be, what with the impossibly long bangs. Curiously enough, it did stick out at all angles in the back. It fit him, though. Rakish, yet, intimidating. Mysterious, yet, alluring. She got it.

She allowed her eyes to wander the span of his (perfectly symmetrical, exquisitely sculpted, evenly proportioned) face, and he allowed her to assess him, cocky little smirk notwithstanding. Once her eyes had made it to the black turtleneck covering his throat, she blinked, and brought them back to the mischief-laced eyes watching her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and attempted to speak, only for her voice to come out in a timid croak.

"Oh."

He lifted his steaming cup to his mouth and blew, cocking a refined brow in her direction.

"...Aa," he muttered into the mug before taking a long, slow sip. He swallowed, his jaw working as he sifted the bitter, scalding drink against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He placed his cup back down on the table, his eyes never leaving her. He hadn't even blinked. It was a bit unnerving, to say the least.

"You can't be more than twenty...," he observed, squinting his eyes in a scrutinizing manner. She gave a brief nod, and he grunted in response, lifting his mug once more to sip from it.

"Who did that to you?" he asked, referring to the darkening bruise on her cheekbone. She stared back at him mutely, tilting her head slightly as if misunderstanding his question. Her long, dark tresses fell from her shoulder to brush against her pale collarbone and she watched as his eyes shifted with the movement before catching her unwavering gaze once more.

"Boyfriend...?" he guessed. She shook her head.

"Ah... Daddy, then?" he asked coolly, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. She blinked at this point; shifted those opal irises down to the tiny white petals floating in her steaming cup. He took that as an affirmation.

"Figures," he sighed. "Only two people a woman would ever take a beating from."

She looked up at him then, a tiny, humorless smile adorning her features as she ran a fingertip along the rim of her porcelain mug.

"He hates me," she whispered, smile still adorning her face. He cracked a small, sardonic grin himself, lifting the cup to his lips.

"Don't they all?" he muttered before sipping, then replacing the cup. "He's a coward."

She only stared at him, knowing her father was anything but. Vicious, ruthless, unmerciful, more like it.

"He's afraid of you, that's why he attacks you. He doesn't understand you," he said by way of explanation. "Haven't you ever heard...? People destroy what they don't understand. Human nature."

It made sense, if she were to be totally honest. Perhaps if she had heard this before tonight, she would have reached out to her father more, found some common ground, reached in understanding. But things had not turned out that way, so she found this information useless. Her demeanor did not change.

"Do you believe him?" he asked her, eyes watching the pale, slender finger tracing around her gold-rimmed tea mug. It paused, and he looked back up at her face, only to find she was not looking at him, but at the table. Her eyes seemed entranced as she became lost within the confines of childhood memories, watching some scene unfold that he could not see. He leaned forward on his elbows, tucking his chin into the palm of his right hand, and drumming the table with the fingers of his left.

"Do you believe him when... he tells you that you are... weak?" he muttered, watching her face closely. She did not move; her eyes glazed over; lips parted as she remembered.

_Weak_.

_Useless_.

_Incompetent_.

"Do you?" he asks again. It is a retentive silence that follows, before she answers him quietly.

"No," she nearly whispers, and when her eyes shift to him, they are brimmed with incriminating tears because while she denies it verbally, she can't hide the truth from herself mentally. He watches her, fine sable eyebrows furrowed a little in the middle.

"So then, why do you act it? Why prove him right?" he asked her, his silky voice mesmerizing her, coaxing emotions long fought to her forefront.

"Why allow him to break you?"

She blinked, causing unshed tears to cascade down her cheeks. Who was this man, who had summed her up so effortlessly? How did he know her feelings so well, when they had only met an hour ago? How had he known her father's words, when they had only minimally spoken themselves?

"You're wasting my money," he told her after a marginal silence, sitting back suddenly and gripping his coffee mug by the handle to lift it to his lips. She looked down at her own cup, realizing the tiny wisps of steam were no longer rising from it. She watched the petals dance around one another, reminding her of the way she and her sister used to chase each other in the field behind their house.

"I'm... not very cold, anymore," she told him, looking up at him. She heaved a sigh, lifting a palm to wipe away the errant tears. Something flashed in his eyes as he peered at her over the rim of his cup, but she was in too much of an emotional heap to decipher it.

"Ring, ring! Ring, ring!"

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnng! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnng!"

She nearly jumped, before belatedly realizing it was a phone, his phone to be precise. She wondered, though, about the fact that it was an actual voice saying "ring". It was a loud, shrill male voice; annoying and vibrant. Her vexation must have shown on her face, for he gave her a casual shrug before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thin touchscreen phone.

"Moshi?" he answered.

"TEME!" she heard the voice on the other line scream excitedly as her companion winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. A vein seemed to pop up on his forehead from nowhere, and he placed the middle and pointer finger of his other hand to his temple to rub circles. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw working agitatedly as he struggled to control his obvious frustration.

"Naruto, you **fucking** simpleton, how many times do I have to tell you to control the volume of your voice when you call me?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"Watch your mouth," muttered the quiet young lady, almost as if on auto pilot. He gave her a brief glance before returning his gaze back to the table. He was quiet for a moment before heaving a sigh then looking at his wristwatch.

"I know what time it is. I just forgot that it was tonight," he muttered.

She sighed to herself. Seemed as if her companion would be leaving her now. She wondered briefly if he was even going to bother walking her back to the bridge now that he had elsewhere to be. Maybe he had had his fill of making her his little project and would use this as an escape.

"I don't care about them. I don't want to go _because_ of them," she listened to him explain to the second party. She watched him roll his eyes as she heard the voice on the other line begin to prattle loudly. Though she could not make out the words, she could tell he was either badgering him into coming into whatever function her companion didn't want to attend, or begging him to come.

"Fine! Just stop your stupid blabbering already, dobe! I'll be there!" he snapped, jamming his thumb into the screen as he (presumably, and a bit rudely) hung up on "Naruto".

He picked up his cup and downed the rest to the embittered liquid before digging out a wad of money from his pocket. Her eyes narrowed as he flipped through the stack; she hadn't spotted anything lower than a twenty dollar bill in the whole bunch. He removed three of them before stuffing the rest back into his pocket. She made no mention of it. If he wanted to dine and ditch when he was loaded, who was she to say anything about it? Nobody. It wasn't her business.

He threw the bills down on the table as he rose from his chair, flipping his hood back onto his head with his other hand. He rose an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"Well...?" he asked. She frowned at him, truly perplexed.

"What?" she asked, a bit snappish in her confused state. He rolled his eyes, and glanced down at his wristwatch for emphasis before giving her an irritated look.

"Are you coming or not? I'm not waiting all night," he told her, folding his arms over his chest.

"Where are you going...?" she asked him suspiciously.

"A party," he told her.

She pondered for a minute, before shaking her head, muttering what sounded suspiciously like, "_rather go back to the bridge_". Her face had taken on a rather morose expression as she played with her fingertips. He slumped back down into his seat.

"Well, why not?" he asked her. She looked up at him, the look she gave him clearly stating that the answer to his question should be obvious.

… Or maybe it wasn't, as he was still giving her that same blank expression. She sighed.

"Parties aren't my scene," she told him before licking her dry lips. His eyes glinted at the movement, and he shook his head, digging into his inner pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. He lit up, then placed both the lighter and pack back into his pocket.

"Mine either. But," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke before continuing. "I'm sure if we stick together, we'll manage." She shook her head at the offer.

"I'm very... awkward with... people," she told him, a soft scowl on her face at the prospect of being in a room full of her peers. He shook his head in an amused fashion raising his semi-gloved hand to his lips once more.

"We'll be like two peas in a pod," he said teasingly, releasing smoke. She watched as the smoke coils spilled from his colorless lips, twisting and turning, dancing as if rejoicing their freedom.

"Tell you what," he began, and she realized she already knew where this was going. He was quite cunning.

"Come to the party with me. Let me show you the things your life _should_ be made of," he said, cocking his head as he ashed into his empty mug. She stared sedately at him for a moment before shaking her head.

"You didn't even want to go just a moment ago," she argued weakly, and he shrugged in response.

"I honestly forgot it was tonight. I just thought that..." he began, his grin falling a little, "...I was going to be busy with something else tonight."

This time, she had the grace to blush a small bit, and she angled her chin downward to hide behind her curtain of hair. But it was too late; he had seen it, and silently vowed to himself to make her do it again.

"We'll only go for an hour. If you don't have fun, or you find yourself wanting to leave," he muttered, puffing his cigarette again, "I'll walk you back to the bridge."

It was silent as she contemplated his proposition, still hiding behind her dark locks. Seconds passed by slowly, and to ordinary people the quiet would have been deafening. But he was a patient person, and he understood her position. She wasn't exactly in a "partying" frame of mind right now. He could give her time to think about it.

Then she cleared her throat a bit, peeking up at him through silky bangs and biting her bottom lip. He noticed her cheeks were still a little ruddy.

"W-will I s-still get m-my k-kiss...?" he heard her whisper. He nodded slowly, his eyes taking in the demure picture she presented to him. He didn't meet many (any, really) girls like her; it was his job to preserve her for as long as he could.

"I give you my word," he told her. The sudden thought that she didn't know him so his word didn't really mean anything struck her, but she pushed it away before voicing another thought.

"Hinata. My name," she uttered softly. One corner of his mouth tilted upward.

"Sasuke," he replied. Then he stood, holding his hand out again. She stood on tired legs, reaching out to clasp onto his hand.

At that moment, "Bertha" came flying from the kitchen, her fist raised at him as she marched toward their direction.

"Asshole! What have I told you about smoking in here? I've fucking got asthma!" she hollered. Hinata watch his eyes widen a small bit as they took in the chubby woman stomping her way across the coffee diner before he turned them to her.

"Time to go," he told her while tossing the rest of his cigarette into her tea cup. With a jerk, she was stumbling after him as he darted out the door and back into the cool night, and this time she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her mouth as they rounded the corner and heard the irate puffy faced woman shouting curses after them. She felt a thrill shoot up her belly as they ran, and a choked noise escaped from her throat in a puff of white.

She was shocked when she realized it was a laugh, and even more shocked when she realized just how long it had been since she had had one.

* * *

A/N:So I humanized Sasuke a little. What of it?

Hope you enjoyed, hope I managed to stay in character. Hope it wasn't too long of a wait, hope my writers block won't make the next one even longer. Hope my kids will fall asleep so I can upload this... -_-''

Don't worry. The story will gradually get light as we go along. Not too light, though. This is not a fluffy fic, people.

Thank you for the reviews! Leave more, if you want. Really just writing for the joy of it now. Great stress reliever. I'm sleepy.


	3. Chapter 3

**How to Save A Life**

_Chpt. 3: No Need For Introductions_

* * *

It had begun to rain during their trek... well, _downpour_ seemed a more apt terminology. All the same, it only added to Hinata's frigidity, causing her goose-pimpled person to pucker even more, her pale lips to variegate to a bluish hue.

The gelid shower had snuck them from behind, gathering din as it gained velocity. She'd heard it approaching, yet couldn't quite place the distant echo of millions of fat, icy drops of water splattering the cement as it rushed towards them; seemingly, _specifically_ for them.

She had known the weather was brisk that day, but had she known she was going to survive the night **and** it were to rain, she would have worn a hell of a lot more than a wife beater and jeans. Add to that the fact that her shoes were really moccasins (which she never wore socks with), and anyone could understand the degree of shivering her body had reduced itself to. It had to be at least twenty/twenty-five degrees, and she was feeling the effects.

He didn't really seem too bothered by the weather, however, and so kept his pace, her cold, slippery fingers clasped tightly within his own as he pulled her onward. She sneezed, rubbed her cold nose with the back of her unoccupied hand. He glanced backward for a second, but continued onward for a few moments before pulling her under the veranda of a closed printing shop.

He released her hand once they were safely tucked away from the torrent and turned to face her. She was breathing heavily, her hair sticking to her face in neck in thick, wet cords. He looked as composed as ever. They stared at each other for a few moments, and she began to wonder how long the deluge would last, how long she would have to withstand his striking gaze (Glare? She couldn't really tell).

"Hn," he grunted after a few moments of assessing her condition, "You're wet."

She blinked up at him, then looked down at herself, and if all of the blood cells in her face were not frozen solid, would have flushed in mortification once she realized how her beater clung to her anatomy like a second skin.

She raised toned, pale arms to cover her person, all the while shivering like an old dog. She frowned a bit when she looked back up at him, opening her mouth to admonish him for staring at her.

"... choo!" was all that came out.

She sniffled, rubbing a finger against her desensitized button of a nose and looked away from the amusement crinkled in his eyes. He shook his head, sighing as he reached up to undo the first button of his peacoat.

"Stupid girl... here," he murmured, his words holding no malice as he hung his coat out to her by the hood. She looked up at the coat, a sigh of relief escaping her as she reached a hand out to take the proffered garment.

"Thank..." she began, choking on her words as she viewed his lean arms, aligned with smooth, hard muscles. His forearms were corded with veins, not too many, but enough to tell that he exercised on a regular basis, perhaps daily.

She shook herself internally, admonishing herself for staring at _him_. He waited patiently for her to take the coat, an eyebrow raised at her in question. She took it graciously, giving him a small smile in return. She wrapped it around herself, immediately enveloped in his warmth. She inhaled subconsciously as she slid her arms into the too-long sleeves, taking in his scent for mental evaluation. It was masculine, of course, warm and delicious with a faint hint of cigarettes. She imagined him walking down the street, women walking the opposite way making u-turns as they caught a whiff of him. She withheld a giggle; he seemed like the type that wouldn't appreciate her laughing at his expense .

"T-thank you," she murmured. Great. This was the fifth time she'd stuttered in front of him. Didn't he know how many years it'd taken her to get that under control? He seemed to know everything else...

He didn't seem to take notice as he reached forward with both arms, invading her personal space to lift the oversized hood onto her head. She tilted her head upward to peek at him from beneath it.

"But..." she began as he reached for the buttons, "you don't have any sleeves!"

He finished buttoning the wooly coat before responding, bending a bit to get the ones at the bottom. He sighed as he straightened up, folding his arms over his chest and scrunching his brows at her very obvious observation.

"Yeah..." he began slowly, "... that's how a sleeveless turtleneck works."

She shook her head, his sarcasm flying straight over it. She thought he misunderstood her.

"No, I mean, you'll get-"

"Come on," he interrupted, snatching her hand up to zip back out into the rain, raising his other arm to shield his face as he raced up the street. The crowds had thinned out since the rain had commenced , so their momentum had picked up easily; no one to weave through, no resistance. They made progress quickly, traveling all the way to the outskirts of the downtown area, where the buildings began to become scarce, and people even scarcer.

It was also darker on this side of town; small, dank looking buildings lining their side of the street and empty abandoned lots lining the other. It was the distribution district, probably for some of the smaller and older companies of Konoha. Her father had closed down some small factories near this way. She had accompanied him.

He pulled her towards a small, run down building on the corner of the dead end street. It was gated, oddly enough, and it appeared abandoned at first glance, but as she peered up at it through the rain, she could see streams of light peeking from between the old blinds, heard the muffled thud of bass through the old walls.

Sasuke reached up to unhook the latch of the tall steel gate before pushing it open with a grunt. The gates swung open slowly, creaking loudly as the rusty hinges grated against one another. He stepped aside to allow her in first before he followed behind, closing and re-latching the gate. He gripped her hand once more as they made their way up the walkway.

Hinata's breath came in shorter and shorter pants the closer they got to the building, her heart hammering in her chest as anxiety slowly slid it's clammy fingers around her throat. Soon she was hyperventilating, her chest seizing as she struggled to get oxygen to her brain. Sensing her distress somehow, Sasuke stopped and turned around to peer at her with scrunched brows, placing his hands atop her shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he yelled over the sound of the rain. She shook her head, raising her hand to pound lightly on her chest.

"Can't... breathe... An...xiety," she murmured between breaths. He nodded, somehow hearing her over the noisy downpour.

"Come with me," he shouted, turning and pulling her by the arm to the steps. There were only four of them, but she counted them anyway, in an effort to stop the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. He stationed her against a pillar adorned with leafy vines, and she slid down until her arms could encircle her knees.

He bent at the knees so that they were eye-to-eye, balancing himself on the balls of his feet as he quietly scrutinized her.

"Breathe," he stated calmly, "just breathe."

"I'm... t-t-trying t-to..." she whispered. But he'd heard her, reaching out to place a hand on her knee in a placating manner. She did as he told her. Closed her eyes, deep inhales, long exhales. Repeat.

"Better?" he asked her after a moment, once her breathing had evened out. She opened her eyes and gave him a small nod, which he returned. He shook his head, removing his hand and sitting so that he could lean back on his palms as he watched her through his long bangs.

"Parties really _aren't_ your scene, are they?" he asked her, his brow raised in curiosity. She shook her head.

"I don't like people my age," she admitted, "I'm sorry." He sighed once more, lifting a hand to run it through his soggy locks, which had begun to hang to the nape of his neck.

"Don't apologize, but don't panic either. It's not as bad as you imagine it to be. Just a few of my..." he paused, glancing upward in contemplation, "... _associates_. Believe me."

"Associates...?" she mimicked questioningly. He nodded, but didn't elaborate, choosing to stand and hold his hand out instead. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it and allowing him to heave her to her feet.

"You should eat more," he mentioned briefly before turning to the door.

She was, admittedly, a bit stunned by his fly-by declaration, as if simply stating facts. Her father had it drilled into her brain that she'd needed to _lose_ a few pounds, made her exercise everyday, trimmed her meals. She shook it off as he twisted the door knob and turned to motion for her to follow before disappearing inside.

She heard the music stop before Sasuke was greeted with a chorus of salutations, the loudest being, "TEME! Took you long enough!" She heard a thud and a few chuckles next. Then,

"OW! You didn't have to push me, you cold-hearted asshole!"

"Hn. Don't hug me, then."

"What took you so damn long?"

"I was..." pause, "...hold on."

Footsteps. She heard his boot-clad feet marching her way and her stomach dropped. She took a step back, ready to trash their agreement and flee. It wasn't worth it. The anxiety was coming back. The inadequacy, the intimidation... weighing her down, tightening her throat like a well-made noose.

He stepped back out onto the porch, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning in her direction.

"Come on," he said calmly, taking a couple of steps toward her, "Have an open mind. No one here is going to judge you. You just have to come out of your shell a bit. Find the things in life _worth_ living for."

She took a deep breath, then another. Her stomach began to unclench with his soothing words, the fact that he'd come back out for her, the fact that he'd given her his coat... he seemed very sincere.

Why was she resisting so hard? Isn't this what she had been wishing for on the bridge? Someone to look at her differently, someone to take an actual interest in her? And there he was, in his deceivingly ominous glory, all sarcastic humor and deadpan honesty...

And candidly, it was refreshing, a relief from the disapproving eyes of the Hyuuga family, the scathing remarks and demoralizing words thrown her way from her own father. This man... had shown her more concern and physical interaction than she had received from her father in _years_. And though it had only been in the way of guiding her, and words had been few, she felt that it was sincere, that he'd wanted to do these things for her. Had she been so conditioned by her father that she couldn't see when people were encouraging her to open up, to... be herself?

"You're father is not in there, Hinata," he murmured. "There's nothing to fear in there. I'll be right with you."

He reached out to grasp her hand and she finally nodded, reaching her other up to push back his oversized hood and brush her water-logged bangs from her forehead.

"Okay," she agreed with a nod. He looked a little skeptical, and mildly shocked that all it took were a few encouraging words, given the massive panic attack she'd just had.

"Okay...?" he asked. She nodded once more.

"Okay. Just...relax."

He turned once more, and entered and even though she'd agreed to brave the party, she found herself hiding behind him as he ushered her into the old building.

"Oi! Bastard! You never answered my question!" came the same voice before, and given the fact that he'd called Sasuke "bastard" twice since they'd arrived, he was probably the same one from the phone call. Naruto.

"I was..." Sasuke paused as he pulled her from behind him to push her in front of him, and she gave a small squeak as she was met by the biggest, bluest set of eyes she'd ever seen. "...making friends."

They were met with silence as Sasuke closed the front door with his foot and the young man in front of her digested this information, quizzical eyes calculating this unlikely equation. His hair, too, was in disarray; golden, feathery locks jutting in all directions. He looked like he sounded, loud and obnoxious with his neon orange cut-off shirt and dingy, sagging jean shorts. The legs were frayed at the end, and on his feet he wore black strap-up sandals. He was tanned from head to toe, and standing with fisted hips, she could see the blonde, wirey thicket peeking from under his arms. He stared at her, his lips puckered in contemplation and his sandaled foot tapping against the burgundy carpeted floor as he looked her up and down.

Then, like a light switch was flicked in his brain, his eyes brightened and he released a boisterous laugh, rocking back on his heels and lifting a hand to adjust the orange aviator glasses strapped to his forehead.

"Well, look here, everybody! Sasuke brought a date! How _cute_!" he shouted teasingly, clasping his hands together and making fishy lips at them. Hinata blanched, her eyes bulging as she shook her head slowly. Ten seconds in the door, and she was already near hyperventilation.

"W-we... I'm n-not... He just-" she stuttered unsuccessfully before a pale arm shot past her peripheral vision and a gloved hand shoved his face aside. The blonde stumbled away, yelping indignantly as he fisted his hips once more.

"Hey, you grade-A douche! Don't touch my pretty face!" he hollered, smoothing the back of his hand over a whiskered (scarred?) cheek.

"Shut the fuck up, you moron. Where's Sakura?" he muttered as he stepped around Hinata to survey the room.

"Watch your mouth..." she muttered as he passed.

She took that time to study the room also. Though upon closer inspection, it seemed to have been a lobby of some sort (a rather large one, at that), with a drinking fountain and unisex bathroom adjacent to the front door. There was a winding staircase to her right, a couch, a loveseat, a recliner, a massive coffee table decked out with a variety of snacks, and a boastfully large plasma television to her left. All seats were occupied with people who were seemingly occupied by the television. She wondered if their exchange was a regular occurrence, then, seeing as no one saw fit to intervene.

"Sasuke-kun!" someone shrieked to her right, and she looked to see a tall, slender young woman with stunningly pink hair flying down the stairs two at a time. She streaked across the ground like a lightening bolt, and Sasuke had enough sense to release Hinata's hand before she launched herself at him, sending him flying into the front door.

He hacked as he righted himself, and she released him with a rich, hearty laugh, all windchimes and easiness. She whacked his back with an open palm a few good times before he waved her off, seeming not to mind his dampened state one bit.

"Iie, I'm good, I'm good," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Ano, Sakura... why do you do that every time? You **know** I smoke."

She pixie haired girl tsked, shaking her head in dismay.

"Then stop smoking, boke," she admonished with a bop to the side of his head, "I'll stop doing that when you give up that nasty ass habit!"

"Like you're one to talk..." he muttered, ignoring her glare as he side stepped her to walk towards the group of people stationed at the T.V, Naruto in-tow. "Oh, and that's Hinata."

The woman rotated to turn exotic green eyes toward Hinata, a curious frown etched onto her face as she if she hadn't noticed her standing there.

"Hm? Oh! Hi, there!" she laughed, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly and extending her other hand for a shake. "I didn't notice Sasuke-kun had brought someone with him! How rude of me!"

Hinata shook her hand, a small smile gracing her features as her eyes traced the many tattoos lining the young woman's forearms. Dragons and koi fish, sunrises and chubby faced cherubs wrapped around both slender arms in colorful sleeves, only stopping because the actual sleeves of her lilac hoodie were bunched around her elbows. She looked at her face, and something vaguely clicked in the back of her mind...

But... this couldn't be her...right? Not with all these tattoos. Not with her eyebrow pierced and a small, black hoop smack dab in the middle of her pouty bottom lip... right?

At the same time, Sakura cocked her head to the side, a look of slight confusion sliding over her features as she released Hinata's hand. She stroked her chin thoughtfully, squinting as her eyes ran over the pale girl's features.

"Hm... You seem vaguely familiar... Do we know each other...?"

Hinata swallowed, shook her head slowly, uncertainly, because she honestly didn't know. She knew she recognized the young woman, and she had a vague idea from where, but given her appearance, she just _had_ to be mistaken.

"I don't... I don't think so..." she answered quietly, meekly. The girl shook her head, taking a step closer and leaning into Hinata's personal space as if getting closer would help her figure it out.

"No... no, I think we do," the girl murmured, more so to herself than to anyone else. "But from where...?"

The air between them was slightly tense as Hinata's eyes darted about the room, searching for an escape route, if need be. A brief thought of her father somehow being involved in this skittered across her brain. What if he'd closed her parent's shop? What if this girl was homeless because of him, and _that's_ why they were squatting in an old, abandoned office building? She subconsciously took a step back, towards the way she had entered. This girl seemed intense. She might need to run for her life if she was correct and the girl pieced it together.

Then Sakura's features brightened as she straightened to her full height once more, her bright smile revealing perfectly pearly teeth.

"Oh, I know!" she said with a snap of her long, slender fingers.

"I know where we know each other from!"

* * *

AN: Yare, yare. I know how long it's been. I apologize if anyone was actually waiting for me. Life just... sweeps you up sometimes, ya' know? Also, I apologize for the itty-bitty cliffhanger. Really, just a shortened chapter. But this is where the story begins to pick up a little momentum, where some of the more racy things come into play. Hinata begins to open up a bit more in the next few chapters, takes a few risks. This story isn't meant to be dark, so it isn't really going to be. A little angsty, maybe, but there will be humor, comfort, friendship, etc...

Sasuke's not completely soft, don't fret. I think he just realizes what Hinata needs at this time, given his own history, so he's trying as best he can to make her comfortable (without losing his cool, of course).

Thank you for anyone who's reviewed, added, and/or favorited my story and I. Very encouraging. I'm sorry I'm too lazy to actually respond. -_-''

Perhaps next chapter.


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